


When The Wind Blows

by Jellyfax



Series: By The Waters Of Babylon [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, Canon Continuation, I promise, M/M, Politics, Post-Apocalypse, things get bad but no one dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-13 23:15:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3399866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jellyfax/pseuds/Jellyfax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sir, we've had word. About the boy.”</p>
<p>The man leant forwards, resting his elbows on the table in front of him. “Well, spit it out then.”</p>
<p>The runner swallowed thickly, the stale air making his mouth claggy and sticky. “There have been reports of him in Scotland, sir, they say he's amassing some kind of army, and there are rumours that they've started to call him the Winter King. King Arthur, sir, like the legend.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi folks! Thank you so much for sticking around. I've decided to post this first chapter as a little teaser, since I've got a lot on my plate IRL and the rest won't be ready to publish for a little while, but I thought you guys deserved a little taste of what's to come (for being so loyal and lovely)
> 
> If you guessed what this sequel was about you get a super special internet cookie!
> 
> I will warn you, it's going to be a bumpy ride ...

_We are the hollow men_

_We are the stuffed men_

_Leaning together_

_Headpiece filled with straw._

 

*

 

The hurried patter of well-worn boots across flagstones echoed around the empty, cavernous space. The fluorescent lamps, held in makeshift metal brackets, were painting the shadowed corridor with stripes of cold, artificial light, and the once-grand stained glass windows were covered with thick lead sheets, giving the room an eerie, unhealthy glow.

 

The footsteps belonged to a man, his face too young and round for a man in his mid-twenties, sweat beading on his forehead, and sticking his musty shirt to his back. His legs were heavy with exertion, and his footfalls were growing laboured. At the end of the long corridor was a set of doors, tall and foreboding, littered with rivets and adorned with messy welding. The man leant all of his weight against them. The hastily lead-lined doors opened with a heavy creak, and the man stumbled into the room, panting heavily. He paused for a moment to catch his breath, saluting sloppily before addressing the circle of people in front of him. He turned to one man in particular, seated in the centremost seat, his dark hair grey around his temples, and his severe brow creased with displeasure.

 

“Sir, we've had word. About the boy.”

 

The man leant forwards, resting his elbows on the table in front of him. “Well, spit it out then.”

 

The runner swallowed thickly, the stale air making his mouth claggy and sticky. “There have been reports of him in Scotland, sir, they say he's amassing some kind of army, and there are rumours that they've started to call him the Winter King. King Arthur, sir, like the legend.”

 

Silence engulfed the room, the only sound a low rumble emanating from their leader’s throat, his lips twisting into a cruel sneer. “Cut off the head, and the body will flounder.” His eyes were steely and cold, and just the look was enough to make the runner shiver. “I think it’s time we beheaded the snake.”

 

 

**One Year Earlier**

 

The wind was howling and the ash blew across the dead landscape like a blizzard, grey, cold and suffocating. There was little sunlight and the grass was crunchy and brown under his feet. Nothing had grown outside in years, and it had strewn the landscape with skeletal trees, dark and taunting against the grey sky. Tightening his coat around him the young man trudged towards the bunker up ahead. He rapped on the metal door seven times in a careful rhythm and waited.

 

The viewing hole slid open.

 

“It's just me.” He said over the roar of the wind.

 

The viewing hole slid shut again and he could hear the grind of metal against metal as the bolts were undone and the door opened. He shivered as he took the coat off, shaking the ash off by the doorway. Inside was little more than a glorified hangar, a few tables and chairs littering the floor, and an old generator in the farthermost corner that powered the lights, the counters, and the old, battered police radio they had salvaged from a nearby town a few months ago. The hangar had once been a barn of some sort, probably for housing livestock from the state they found it in, but it had thick, corrugated metal walls, and was out of the way of the big cities.

 

“Still coming down heavy out there?”

 

He looked up. The man what had spoken was sat on the ratty sofa in front of him, dark hair messy and unkempt, and eyes the colour of sea storms, ringed dark with months of fitful sleep. He smiled and sat down beside him.

 

“Yeah, thicker today than it was yesterday. How're the counters looking?”

 

A woman passed him a mug of something hot. “No change.”

 

“Thanks Anna.” He replied taking it gratefully.

 

“You still have some in your hair.” Said the man next to him, mussing his hair. A dusting of grey fell into his lap and the man smiled warmly. “Much better.”

 

He shoved him off playfully before leaning into him, sighing deeply.

 

“You were gone for longer today. Anything happen?”

 

He took a tentative sip of the liquid. It was scalding, and bitter, but it warmed him through nonetheless. You had to be grateful for the little things. “No, not really. The meeting went well enough, I just got caught in the storm on the way back.”

 

“Arthur.” He said warningly, his usually bright eyes darkly incredulous.

 

Arthur put the mug down and sighed. “Honestly, Merlin, they were pretty open to the idea of an alliance, so long as we are willing to share our resources equally with them.”

 

“They barely produce anything themselves, and yet they want equal rights to what we grow? How is that fair?” Anna chimed in.

 

“It's not fair, but while we have more produce, they have far more skilled workers, not to mention the building materials, more counters … there's a lot they have to offer. Not to mention if we're going to make a difference we've got to start making friends.”

 

She frowned. “I just wish you'd send an envoy instead of going alone, Arthur.”

 

“Why do I need an envoy? This was my idea, so I'm going to see it through.”

 

“At least let Merlin go with you next time.”

 

A middle aged man leant over the sofa behind them, his face creased with thoughtful concern. “She's right Arthur, we've said from the start that no fewer than three people should travel at one time.”

 

“Jac, you know we can't show up in a group or they get twitchy.” Arthur replied. The doctor was right, but he wasn’t willing to risk losing the trust they had built up with the Churchtown group.

 

It had been six months since the temporary government had failed, and it wasn’t long after that that the military took over. At first it seemed as though the military leaders would claw back some semblance of order, instead they imposed martial law, and it had thrown the country into chaos. It had been every man for himself, people being slaughtered over food and shelter. Soon the only way to survive was to formed alliances, gathering together and fortifying abandoned villages. Safety in numbers.

 

“And yet they expect you to see _them_ in a group? Doesn't that strike you as a little odd?” Anna said, perching on the table opposite them, frown deepening.

 

“They're just scared, wary of outsiders, and understandably with the number of Hawkers on the rise.” Arthur took another sip of his drink, wincing as it went down.

 

Jac’s frown mirrored Anna’s, and he nodded solemnly. “That's true. I heard two packs this morning. _Two._ In one morning. We had to kill all the counters, shut everything down, just in the hopes that they wouldn't notice us.”

 

The hot liquid had turned to ice in his stomach. That wasn’t good. “Hawkers don't usually scout that often, or this far out, unless they've moved their camp.”

 

“I don't know, but if you'd run into one on your way back from Churchtown, you'd have had to deal with them, or we'd all be dead in hours.”

 

Arthur swallowed thickly. “I know.”

 

Anna sighed and stood up. “No point in worrying ourselves about it now. You two should head to bed, Rhiannon and I have the first watch.”

 

Merlin nodded and stood up wearily. Arthur felt as tired as Merlin looked. Things had been getting more fraught recently, more Hawkers meant two people had to keep watch at all times, one to watch the counters, and one to watch for Hawkers. There were only a few of them in their group, and it often meant that watches would overlap.

 

 

*

 

Their room wasn’t much to look at, just a corner of the bunker separated by hastily-made curtains, fashioned out of sheets and blankets too worn to be used. They had mattresses though, which is more than many people had. Merlin lay down heavily, not even bothering to strip off his shirt or trousers. Arthur sat down beside him, peeling his sweat-sodden shirt from his back. He nudged Merlin, who sighed and sat up, allowing Arthur to pull his top off over his head.

 

As Merlin lay down again Arthur ran a hand over his chest, tracing the bones prominent against his pale skin. They were both leaner than they had been, and growing leaner by the day. They grew just about enough food in the little makeshift greenhouse they had to keep starvation at bay, but they didn’t have the resources to do much else.

 

“You're getting thinner.” He said quietly.

 

“So are you.” Merlin replied. Arthur gave him a long-suffering look. “There are people who need the food more than I do.”

 

He frowned. “Don't make yourself sick for the sake of others Merlin, please.”

 

“I'm not sick, Arthur. I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself.”

 

“Apparently not.”

 

The look he received was disparaging. “Arthur.”

 

“Please Merlin, you looked after me for years, it's time I got to look after you.”

 

Merlin smiled softly, resting his forehead against Arthur's. “Yes sire.”

 

Arthur swatted at him playfully. “Brat.”

 

“Says the nineteen year old to the thousand year old.”

 

“Oi! I’m nearly twenty.”

 

“My point exactly.” He said wryly. “Now let’s get some sleep. I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.”

 

Arthur hummed in agreement and pulled Merlin closer, closing his eyes and breathing him in. It was moments like this that Arthur could forget the horrors of reality and just lose himself in the warmth of Merlin’s embrace, and the gentle beating of their hearts as sleep claimed them both.


	2. Chapter 2

_Alas!_

_Our dried voices, when_

_We whisper together_

_Are quiet and meaningless_

_As wind in dry grass_

_Or rats' feet over broken glass_

_In our dry cellar_

 

*

 

The only thing that signalled it was morning at all was the phosphorescent glow of the clock hands, splayed out at obtuse angles. Almost seven. Arthur rolled over to find Merlin’s side of the bed empty and cold. He groaned as he dragged himself out of bed and made his way through to the other room. The two women were sat on the sofa, talking quietly about something. They fell silent when they noticed him.

 

“Morning Anna, Rhiannon.”

 

Rhiannon smiled up at him, her eyes ringed with dark bags, but bright and attentive despite the sleep deprivation they were all suffering from.

 

“Ti'n iawn?” She asked as she handed him a mug.

 

He took it gratefully. “Thanks. Tired but not too bad. Hawkers have been quieter these past few days. I haven’t seen or heard any since I got back from Churchtown.”

 

Rhiannon nodded, fiddling with a strand of her hair distractedly. “It doesn’t feel right, does it?”

 

Arthur shook his head. “No. I’d been wishing for a quiet spell, but now it’s here I’m not comforted at all. It’s just unsettling.”

 

They were all quiet for a moment, their thoughts accompanied by the sound of the wind, and the gentle crackling ticks of the counters.

 

Anna cleared her throat a little. “Arthur, love. Merlin’s just tending to the vegetables, I think you should go and help him.”

 

Arthur frowned. “It’s my turn though. You need me on watch more than he needs me helping him tend plants.”

 

She gave him a withering look. “I mean you should go and talk to him.”

 

Arthur glanced over to the far corner of the bunker where the small patch of vegetables was, before nodding resolutely. Anna smiled and placed a hand on his arm before walking over to the counters again. Anna had been more of a mother to him in the three years he’d known her than any of his foster mothers ever had been. She had been taken aback at first, when Merlin had confronted her about being Emrys, but after some careful consideration, studying his face and mannerisms for what seemed like an eternity, she only let out a baffled laugh, and confessed that she had always known there was something magical about that old man. Not that in a million years she would have guessed who he really was. It wasn’t every day you found out fictional characters were real, and right in front of you. Then again, it wasn’t every day you had to band together just to survive, or at least it hadn’t been, before.

 

He nursed the hot cup of bitter liquid in his hands as he made his way to the back of the bunker. In the corner was a dome of white plastic sheeting that covered several rows of tilled soil, filled with seedlings and sprouting vegetables. There was one, tall spotlight that warmed the soil whenever they could spare the electricity, but even when it wasn’t on, the air under the plastic sheeting hummed and glowed with young Epimelides and Meliai, or at least that was what Merlin called them. They were the ones who took shelter with them after the darkness fell, the ones that Merlin could save. For a while they had sheltered the Sylph as well, but they had not survived the stifling pollution. Merlin had screamed and cried when the last of them died. He had promised them, he said, promised to keep them safe. He had failed.

 

“Hey.” Arthur said quietly.

 

Merlin shot him a weary smile before continuing with his work.

 

He looked old, but not in the way he had done when they’d first met. There was no grey in his hair, and his skin was smooth and young. Arthur looked older than _he_ did now, but to him Merlin looked old. He was tired, drained of something, some kind of energy that Arthur had always taken for granted in him. Perhaps Merlin had taken it for granted too.

 

Arthur knelt down beside him and began picking at the soil himself.

 

“You don’t need to help, I can manage on my own.” Merlin’s voice was soft, and he didn’t meet Arthur’s gaze as he said it.

 

“You’re not on your own, and you don’t need to be. Jac always used to say that two hands make for light work, or something like that. It was always a ploy to get me to socialise, but it’s still true.”

 

Merlin paused for a moment, before sighing in consent, his hands deftly, but ever so gently, moving around the assortment of nymphs this small patch of green was home to.

 

“Who thought we’d end up here, huh.” He said quietly.

 

Arthur brushed some excess soil from one of the sprouting tubers, a fleck of yellow light settling on the leaves as he finished. “No one ever thought it would get this bad. No one thought they’d actually do it.”

 

“But they did, and now … this is so far from what we knew. Never in our darkest nightmares was this something we thought would happen. Trolls, witches, darocha, all those petty fights with Morgana … this just makes it all seem so … well, _petty_.”

 

Arthur took Merlin’s soil stained hand in his own and squeezed it lightly. “You know us, we have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. When I think back to it, I never got into trouble when you weren’t around.”

 

Merlin squeezed back. “Yeah, perfect princely prat that you were.”

 

“Were?”

 

The hint of a smile tugged at Merlin’s lips. “Well you’re hardly princely now, and you’re certainly less of a prat.”

 

“Oh, well, I’m glad I’m _less_ of a prat then.” Arthur replied dryly.

 

Merlin chuckled. “You know what I mean.”

 

“I know what you mean.”

 

There was a silence between them. Perhaps if things had been different they might have said something fonder, shared a kiss over the vegetables, more precious than any currency now. Instead they shared nothing more than a look before they let go of each other’s hands and continued tending the plants.

 

They had barely found each other before everything had gone to hell. After the bombs went off the only thought was that of survival. There was no time for romance when you were alive, but never really living. They had each other, and they felt safe in each other’s arms, but that was all they could manage for the time being. Whatever had been blossoming between them had been stunted, nipped in the bud by the catastrophic events of that summer two years ago. The last summer anyone had seen.

 

What they had now was solidarity. A shared bed, a few stolen kisses, and the odd quick fuck. They didn’t make love, there was nothing romantic about their fervent rutting. It didn’t bear to think of what they could have been. Of that short time they had shared in the little cottage by the lake. The gentle, tentative kisses, and whispered words of love. Now they fucked to remind each other that they were alive, and that there were feelings more than fear and exhaustion. They’d fuck when Arthur was late coming home and Merlin feared he’d died. They’d fuck when Merlin’s fevers broke, and Arthur was so angry that he’d let himself get sick, but more relieved that he was still there. There was always an underlying fear of losing one another, and that had become all there was.

 

A forceful rap at the metal door broke into Arthur’s thoughts. The pattern wasn’t correct, and everyone was already inside the bunker. He looked up at Merlin. His countenance shifted to mirror his own apprehension, heckles raised, poised to fight or run.

 

The rapping continued, followed by a panicked voice.

 

“Please, let me in, please! They’ve been following me for days, please!”

 

Arthur looked at Jac who was edging towards the door. He slid the viewing hole open.

 

“Oh thank Christ! Please let me in! I’m from Churchtown, they sent me as a missive but there were Hawkers and I’ve been hiding out for so long, please!”

 

Jac looked back at the group assembled just behind him. Arthur turned to Merlin, his face stony, before nodding. Sliding the viewing hole shut again, he unbolted the door.

 

A young man tumbled in, shaking and covered in ash.

 

“Thank you. Thank you so much, Jesus, thank you!” He mumbled as he scrabbled to his feet.

 

Nobody moved. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

 

The man looked up. He was younger than Arthur, with baleful brown eyes, and a dusty mop of brown hair, tied back in a rough ponytail. “My name’s James, I’m from Churchtown. I was sent after you not long after you left us, with news from Argall.”

 

“Argall sent you?” Arthur said, taking a step towards the man. Argall was the leader of the Churchtown group, middle aged and stoic. He was level-headed, and just the kind of man that Arthur would appreciate as an ally. “What did he have to say?”

 

James’ gaze flicked from Arthur to the rest of the group and back again.  “Umm … it’s kind of a discussion. Would you mind if I sit down. I’ve been on my feet for days.”

 

Anna was the first to go to him. “Why don’t you take that coat off, love. It’s covered in that nasty stuff, we don’t want that being dragged through the place.”

 

He shrugged off the coat gratefully, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion. “Thank you.”

 

“Rhiannon, get the boy a cup of something hot.”

 

Arthur eyed James warily, but Merlin rested a hand on his arm and smiled. “Talk to him. He’s come all this way, the least you can do is hear him out.”

 

Sighing Arthur perched next to the young man, leaning on his knees. “So, James, Argall wanted to talk.”

 

He nodded. “Yeah. He’s been thinking about your proposal. He’s taken into consideration the size of your … group … and the resources you have offered to provide, and he would like to offer you sanctuary in our community.”

 

Rhiannon appeared behind them and offered James a steaming mug. He took it thankfully.

 

“Sanctuary? What exactly does he mean by that?”

 

“Well,” James said, taking a sip of his drink. “What he’s offeri- Sweet Jesus! What is this?!” He spluttered, his face puckering with displeasure.

 

Arthur snorted and patted the man on the back. “Now there’s a question… Sorry, should have warned you. We don’t exactly have a lot of coffee, so this is kind of, well it’s a concoction of sorts. It’ll keep you awake and warm you through. That’s what matter.”

 

Coughing a little, James nodded. “Right, well, what Argall means is that if you bring all you can offer to Churchtown, he will take you all in.”

 

“So it’s not so much an alliance as an assimilation.”

 

James frowned. “Yeah, I guess. But we have a lot of people, and you only have five. I’m not certain what alliance you can have with such an imbalance.”

 

Merlin hummed thoughtfully behind them. “He does have a point, Arthur.”

 

“What Argall wants is to take over our resources, and for us to bow to him then?”

 

Face falling, James placed his mug down in front of him. “No. Argall isn’t like that. He wants to help, but he doesn’t know that you can lead anyone, or even help to. As far as he knows you are just some kid young enough to be his son who has a ragtag band of survivors holed up in a shed somewhere.”

 

“That does describe us very well.” Jac quipped.

 

Arthur sighed. “I suppose that’s true. Well, I don’t know if we can come to you quite yet, because the crops we have already growing are here, and there’s not exactly any economical way we can transport them.”

 

James nodded, but Merlin, leaning over the back of the sofa chimed in. “I think I have a way we could transport some of it at least.”

 

Arthur raised a brow, but Merlin said nothing more.

 

“That’s great!” James said, grinning. “Argall will be so pleased!”

 

Arthur frowned imperceptibly. “Why did they send you?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Why you? At our last meeting, I don’t remember seeing you, and Argall didn’t mention you. This was quite important, I’d have expected someone more …”

 

“Older? Wiser? Generally more trustworthy looking?” He said with a wry smile. “Yeah, I get that a lot. Argall is actually my uncle, so he wanted to send someone he trusted. Family, you know.”

 

Arthur looked James up and down. His tightly curled hair was slick with dried sweat, and his face was grubby, but the line of his jaw, the slight hook in his nose, and the breadth of his shoulders _did_ seem familiar.

 

“Right. So does that make you James Argall?”

 

James laughed. “No, uncle on my mum’s side. I’m James Patton.”

 

Merlin smiled. “Pleased to meet you James Patton. I’m Merlin. You’re welcome to stay with us until we’re ready to leave, and travel with us.”

 

“Merlin? And you’re Arthur?” He said, turning back to the man sat next to him. Arthur nodded sheepishly. “Huh. Funny old world, isn’t it.”

 

Arthur looked up at Merlin and smiled. “Yeah. It is.”

 

There was a noise, small and spluttering, and the conversations all died. They waited, barely breathing, to hear the noise again.

 

In the silence Arthur could hear a wheezing cough. Then another. A low, gargling growl.

 

Jac jumped to action, killing the power to everything. Even the counters weren’t worth keeping on.

 

“Were you followed?” He hissed, grabbing James by the shoulders.

 

“I … I … they chased me all the way here.” He stammered. “I thought I’d lost them though!”

 

The older man swore under his breath. “Goddamn Hawkers!”


End file.
